


I Can Survive If You Love Me (Please Don't Stop, I'll Do Anything, Anything, Anything)

by Sukila



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gems can corrupt because of emotion, Alternate Universe - Gems corrode over time, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Conditioning, Corruption, Depression, Drabble, Heavy Angst, Homeworld (Steven Universe), Homeworld Hierarchy (Steven Universe), I love that tag, I'm Sorry, Mental Health Issues, Pearl Solidarity (Steven Universe), Pearls have too many rules, Pearls love their diamonds but really shouldn't, Post-Gem War, Song: Love Like You (lyrics mentioned), Songfic (kind of), Unhealthy Relationships, it's more like admiration, platonically though - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sukila/pseuds/Sukila
Summary: Blue Pearl sings her own song, for once, just a few isolated moments to finally say all she’s been thinking. It could be called unfortunate that Yellow Pearl heard, that she was off to tell her diamond of the treachery until...she saw the tiny gem pull back her bangs. Every pearl was crafted to imitate their master, the most gratuitous flattery, but those many eyes leaking tears resembled nothing about Blue Diamond. And, perhaps, that was something they shared in common, not a flame of wanting for something more than servitude, but a quiet sorrow over their many faults that make them so terribly imperfect.AU: Off-colours are made in two ways, imperfect gem creation, and the wearing down of an old, overused gem, whether it be because of stress, mental instability, or abuse. Said mental instability, if severe enough, can also cause corruption.





	I Can Survive If You Love Me (Please Don't Stop, I'll Do Anything, Anything, Anything)

Pearls aren’t supposed to feel. They are made to find love in servitude, to enjoy serving their mistresses without questions or comments. Perhaps that was why, in looking at her flaws, she grew so terribly sad, enough to warrant tears that didn’t belong to her diamond, for once. Not quiet and collected, but breathy and noticeably more loud than her usual short bursts of speech. It wasn’t something new, just uncontrolled and wild, something she’d never quite learned how to be rid of despite her experience.

 

She didn’t know what to call it, nor what to do with the restless energy and lackluster days it brought on, at times (her only experience lay in concealing fatigue).

 

But she did know how to sing, even if the more forbidden words seemed to bite at her subconscious and sting her tongue as she half-muttered the lyrics she’d made:

 

_“I always thought, I might be bad…”_

 

She stared at herself, the reflection blurring into teary vision that refused to accept her own failures.

 

_“Now...I’m sure that it’s true…”_

 

Blue eyes blinked back spots of water, a few tumbling down to disturb the fabric of her clothes, leaving a noticeable spot of moisture on her see-through skirt.

 

_“‘Cause… I think you’re so good…”_

 

So perfect, radiant, and so very sad. She’d shown her, a lowly servant, that pain wasn’t something to fear, that emotions were a part of the strong, too, and something they needn’t fear.

 

_“And, I’m nothing like you.”_

 

Disgustingly off, she thought, gently brushing a hand against the imperfections on her face, resisting the urge to dig into them with her nails, to feel them sting and her eyesight flicker with red and black bubbles.

 

_“Look at you go, I just adore you…”_

 

She watched her everyday, it was a part of her duties, to pay attention, to stay quiet, to be there when called upon and every time in between. And though her bangs formed a curtain that reminded her of each passing moment that her offness grew, she would continue to peer through that blue shield and towards her diamond, her wonderful mistress.

 

_“I wish that I knew, what makes, you think I’m so special…”_

 

In her palm, she would sit and sing, stifle odder sounds that bubbled up from inside and seemed to be joyful, almost, then let herself cry alongside her diamond, to let her mistress see that solidarity and feel comforted. She knew the view well, by now, but never tired of it, never tired of being doted on during those special moments.

 

_“If I could, begin to do, something that does right by you…”_

 

Anything to calm and quiet her tears, to fix the hurt, even if it shattered her, even if it was out of line, should the opportunity come, she would do so, not a second of hesitation spared to possibly consider her life above her diamond’s.

 

_“I would do about anything, I would even learn how to love…”_

 

Like her. Like the mourning diamond who cared so deeply for whom she’d lost. Perhaps, one day, she could feel the imagined bitterness and sweet frills of that emotion, to care so deeply it would bring her to tears, perhaps, that was what she was doing right now.

 

But...was her love worth anything at all?

 

-

 

Yellow Pearl stepped away from the scene, backing away from the door with a vague horror in her eyes but a slight depth of character to her stance (not shocked but containing, fists clenched to ward off any stray emotions). It was her duty to report this but…

 

_A glimpse of her face as she brushed her bangs back to stare at the imperfections, the addition of eyes where none should be, her own hand drew back to brush the space between her shoulder blades._

 

She did it again, felt that space and its phantom pain from the space where she’d cut into the skin and removed that bit of angry orange pigment that had felt so soft and vulnerable as she’d dug through it with her fingers. A feather, like a new Rubellite’s, downy and without purpose until others grew around it, until limbs took shape to carry the gem.

 

And, instead of rushing off in her usual stupor, instead of eagerly reporting the gossip and treason to her diamond… She understood, knew that her fellow pearl only regretted her imperfections for the way they made her not measure up, for the way they threatened her purpose and place in the court.

 

The spot burned again, and she left with her teeth clenched, too. The faint whispers of the smallest hint of rebellion still echoing in her mind. And only when she was finally alone did she mutter along, carefully and barely audible as it accompanied a bitter smile and a soft exhale as her body finally relaxed:

 

_“...Love me, like you…”_

 

-

 

They both felt those growing speckles in their clear-cut glass, the spots of discolouration and aberration in, otherwise, pristine, unshaken pictures as they were painstakingly developed. One with eyes that grew over her scalp, like icy shards of frozen water, carefully covered by aquamarine strands and painfully shrouded in darkness, knowing only shadows and the burning of obstruction. The other with wings the colour of roaring flames, a sunrise that was carefully contained so no embers could escape, plucked out and away from the sky before it ever dared surface over the horizon.

 

Because, unlike their diamonds, they decayed over time, felt forbidden emotions grow with their understanding of the worlds they lived in. And, soon, sooner than ever would have ever imagined or seen in nightmarish daydreams, they feared their replacement.

 

Blue would cut her off quickly, another worthless item to mourn over like she would a friend despite never knowing her; it was more than what she deserved, to cause her diamond pain. (Perhaps that was why she was always so quiet, aching to be nothing more than an object so she would not longer crave that warmth, so her diamond would not mourn her).

 

Yellow would do the same, barely caring to remember one face in a long line as she stared at the bigger picture; it was more than she deserved, to even be thought of in the first place. (Perhaps that was why she was always so cocky, aching to be reprimanded so she would be noticed, so she would have a purpose that was more than being present, so her diamond would have a use for her).

 

After all, no one wanted to end up like Pink’s pearl. Rotted and malformed from centuries of seamless thought, swapped mistresses, and despair. She was barely recognisable, now, a mass of misshapen material and wasted resources as she’d slowly turned into an unfeeling monster, empty of consciousness and the inability to become who she once was, not ever again. (She whispered to them whenever they passed, to warn them of corruption, whimper her sadness in empty poems, or, simply, to give her greetings and show a piece of her still lay within).

 

Even fewer wished to become like White’s, passed around until she broke her bonds and killed any loyalty from the inside out, openly displaying her distaste for their empire and her own status. (They had each seen her once before, a brave renegade who stood tall but crumpled when no one else was watching, she’d wanted them to go with her, but neither could ever dare understand her curse, the face she’d made when they suggested she’d betrayed her diamond).

 

Rebellion...now that was a fate worse than death… A fate an expiration date may just push them towards, or so the stories said.

 

But as much as they both wanted to speak of their predicament, they sung songs alone instead, hated themselves instead, did anything else than what they should. Because they loved their diamonds so very much, and despite their lack of self-preservation, their desire to serve was innate and strong.

 

So maybe they _were_ like Pink’s as they degraded in their sorrow, or more like White’s in their flickers of rebellious spirit that made them unfit to even remain alive, much less at their diamonds’ sides.

 

But lies were their only options, weren’t they? The only opportunities they’d ever have to ever, maybe, just maybe, be a little bit loved.

 

So they carried on, waiting for words that would never come, and suffering in the silence as they supplemented it with gestures and read a little too deeply into every exchange.

 

And they lied.

 

They lied and lied and _lied,_ falling a little more each time, willing to whittle away until there was nothing left to give, as was their duty.


End file.
